


Speed (or: How I Came to Love Leather Gloves)

by FassyAnon



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Henry Cavill - Fandom
Genre: 3-piece suit, Darts, F/M, Flirting, Leather gloves, Motorcycles, Naked Female Clothed Male, Sex, speed - Freeform, texture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:25:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7951540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FassyAnon/pseuds/FassyAnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kensie, so misunderstood by everyone, has an interesting encounter in the middle of nowhere in Michigan.</p><p>Oh, how I wish I were Kensie...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When you cut your driving teeth on a precision machine, one that can do, say, 120 piece of cake, you get quite comfy with speed. Important things might pass you by, but all you see is a blur.

My Daddy threatened to take my baby away from me, but all I had to do was bat my lashes and he’d cave. I was spoiled like that.

When I left home, Daddy let me keep the car. He warned me, though, that I had to learn to slow down. Well, I didn’t and I lost my license for a while. Daddy thought it would do me good to have to take public transportation. He thought, for some reason, that I didn’t appreciate all that I had.

I did. I just didn’t let on that I did.

I didn’t need the exorbitant allowance he’d given me when I went away to college. I’d spend my day in the student union and I’d hear of other students needing money or they’d be thrown out of their apartment or they wouldn’t be able to eat or they’d be tossed out of school and suddenly they’d get cash in the mail. I know, you’re not supposed to send cash, but no one could know it was me. I was a spoiled brat, after all. I had a reputation to uphold.

That wasn’t the only reputation I had.

When I graduated, top of my class, everyone assumed that Daddy had bought my grades. They might have assumed that because of how I dressed: it was quite revealing, after all. I clearly couldn’t have the body that I did, that I worked really hard to maintain, and have brains. Nope, that’s just not possible. They might have assumed that because I never showed up to class. I didn’t have to. All I had to do was read the material and I knew it, understood it, could have taught it better myself than half the TAs we had. They might have assumed that because I’d get my exams and papers back with perfect scores because no one gets perfect scores on everything.

They might have assumed that because I didn’t try to correct them. Why bother? They’d believe the worst about me, regardless if it was true or not.

It never was.

So when I left and went to work for Daddy’s Foundation, everyone said, behind my back, ‘of course that’s where she’d work’. Didn’t matter that I had to interview just like everyone else. Didn’t matter that Daddy had told them to be extra hard on me.

Didn’t matter that I had what it took to get the job done.

I got the job. I did well. I moved up quickly and within a few years, was running several of their programs. They took off and became models for other programs, for other foundations. No one ever told me ‘good job’ or ‘atta girl’ or anything encouraging. They assumed that it was my Daddy who came up with the program.

I didn’t correct them.

So when I quit my job, said _auf wiedersehen, au revoir, sayōnara_ , I didn’t look back. Two years later I found myself on some back road in the middle of B.F.E. on my Ducati on my way up to the UP to meet up with my Daddy, because a gal who grew up on speed never could give it up, completely, and no one was surprised. They might have been surprised if they’d found out that that little foundation I’d worked for was having a difficult time. My Daddy had retired just after I left and with me gone, everything had gone to hell in a hand-basket. They might have been surprised to learn that that foundation was getting ready to go under, that they’d called me, begging me to come back because the people who had always taken credit for what I’d done were finally fessing up to the fact that they were frauds, and that never happens.

I’d told them I’d think about it.

I’d liked having the last two years of just going where the wind took me, not being tied to anything, or anyone.

I worked damn hard. I played even harder.

The Ducati and I were in a hurry to go nowhere fast. I wanted to feel the wind in my hair, which was almost impossible given my helmet. I wanted to feel the sun on my skin, which would have to wait, given the feels-like-second-skin riding leathers I was wearing to protect me in case something happened. It never had, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t had some close calls.

Like this stupid fucker driving the i8 I almost ran into when I rounded a curve and was instantly on top of him. He obviously didn’t know what he had under him or he wouldn’t be doing 15 less than the speed limit. Granted, I was doing at least 30 more, but still; it was no excuse.

I was stuck.

There was a long line of cars in the other direction, and when it cleared there was a double yellow that kept me from passing this pansy. It took a good 7 miles for things to clear enough for me to pass. He had the nerve, the absolute nerve to flip me off. When I was in front I slowed enough, and quickly, too, to make his tires squeal and make my point. I flipped him off in my mind, but I wasn’t about to lift my hand. I needed it for steering. It wasn’t long before I couldn’t make out his car in my rearview. Good riddance.

I made it to where I was going and checked in. She gave me the bungalow closest to the lake, which meant that I had the longest walk. I decided to grab a beer before I headed back. I was aching for a shower, but I needed a beer even more.

I could tell around these parts that they didn’t get too many women who rode, given all the sideways glances I was getting. I really didn’t care; I was only staying the one night.

I grabbed a Guinness and headed to a table near the jukebox. I wanted something in my head other than the sound of my bike. Sure, I could listen to music while riding, if I chose, but I preferred to stay as focused on the road as possible. I felt it my duty to remain unencumbered when hurtling down the road at over 100.

I was not impressed by their selection. Apparently someone had a preference for Top 40 crap. I pulled out my iPhone and headphones, putting on Contraband. That album always helped me to calm down.

When I spied their dart board I asked for darts. May as well have some fun.

I warmed up, tossing them, getting a feel for their weight and how I’d need to compensate for how out of balance the barrel was. Sure, they were your typical bar darts with their flights made of plastic, but still: you want them to have a decent balance.

I’d tossed several rounds to get a feel and was done with my first Guinness. I asked for water, which I guzzled, and another Guinness. Three was always my limit so I knew I needed to pace myself.

I had just finished my fifth turn on my game of 501 and was really in a groove. I pulled the darts from the board, sauntering back in time to Superhuman when a brick wall of a man caught my attention. How could he not, he was blocking my path to my Guinness. I tried to walk around him, but he took one step and continued to block my path. I pulled an earbud out and glanced up, up, up that flesh wall to, seriously, one gorgeous hunk of man.

“May I help you?”

“What are you listening to?”

Well, first thing I noticed, other than his very physical presence, was his accent. I know, I know, completely cliché (clichés are clichés for a reason), but damn it if it wasn’t sexy as hell. The biggest problem was that he knew it. I hated gorgeous, smug sexy bastards. I hated them so much that I normally had sex with them early. And often. They were my weakness.

I decided to see if I could play hard to get with this one.

“Velvet Revolver.”

I got a blank stare as I stepped around him. Clearly he had one thing on his mind.

“What are you wearing?”

“These would be a little thing called clothes. Do you not have clothes where you come from?”

I glanced over at the bar, wanting something stronger than the beverage I had before me. If I was going to toy with this panty-melting hunk o’manflesh, I needed reinforcements. I was happy when I spied something that I knew I could handle.

“Bartender? Could I get Old Forrester, neat? Thank you.”

“You can put that on my tab.”

Luckily, the woman behind the bar looked to me. I took a couple steps back and gave Mr. three-piece-suit-wearing brick wall the once-over. When I glanced back to her, she was checking him out from behind. Our eyebrows had a conversation…

 _“Well?”_  
_“Seriously, you need to check the view out back here.”_  
 _“Really?”_  
 _“Yes!”_  
 _“Thanks, I’ll do that.”_

“You can put it on his tab.”

I love it when women give each other the knowing glance, the ‘ _damn, woman, you don’t tap that and I will_ ’ glance.

Thing is, I hadn’t quite made up my mind. I had to assess the situation first. Was he just some good looking guy who happened to be in a not-quite dive bar in a three piece navy blue pinstripe suit that had to have cost £4,000 to £5,000, easy, and probably more? For as built a man as he was, it had to be custom, and not some cheap tailor cutting down some off-the-rack thing. This had been made for him. I envied the person who’d been _paid_ to lay their hands on this man.

You don’t often see a man who knows how to wear a suit, let alone wears one anymore. They seem to have gone by the wayside about the same time that all the tech stuff started up.

And for as big a man as he was, he chose to wear a waistcoat, which I found interesting. My Daddy always had his suits made in London, so he always referred to everything by their ‘proper name’. He chose not to wear a waistcoat, having been a big man himself, burly more than fat. He thought they emphasized his size so he always elected to go without. The one exception to that rule was his tux. Daddy always did look good in his tux.

As my perusal ventured south I’m sure my nose wrinkled when I got to his feet. One thing I never understood: why on earth would a man choose to wear brown shoes with a blue suit? Black just blended so much better. At least they were a very rich dark brown, reminding me of walnut. Not my favorite look. They did match his leather driving gloves, though, so he’d obviously put some thought into his ensemble. A man who put himself together well: that was something I hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Are you about done?”

I allowed the sly grin I’d been fighting to make a temporary showing before fixing him with my gaze. I’ve been told, time and time again, that I can level just about anyone with one glance. When he didn’t back down, I knew I had to have him.

“Nope, not anywhere close. Just started this game. You want to join?” I knew he’d been talking about my examination of his form. It crossed my mind that it would be fun to undress him, layer by layer, and see if he could hold up under my intense scrutiny.

“That’s not…” I gave him my best innocent look, even batted my eyelashes. “You know what, I don’t mind if I do.”

I felt the heat creep up from low in my belly when he replied. I could just eat him up with a spoon, what with his dimples and twinkly eyes and broad shoulders and his back had to be a thing of beauty and square jaw… sigh.

“I was playing 501, you up for that? Or is 301 more your style?”

“501’s good.”

I placed the darts in the palm of his gloved hand. I was now interested in seeing what lay beneath. I have a thing for hands-I prefer the palms broad and the fingers scaled to match-and I hoped he’d satisfy my kink.

He tossed a couple of darts, grimacing as they obviously didn’t land where he’d aimed.

“Here, let me.”

Yes, I had an ulterior motive as I assisted him in removing his jacket. I could have used that excuse-the word disrobing came to my mind and I’m glad I was behind him-to lay hands on him, but I didn’t, at least, not more than was necessary. It was enough to feel his muscle ripple over bone of his shoulders when I did touch him. Good.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. Do you have a hangar?”

“It’s Lisa. Let me go grab one from the back.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

My look didn’t scream ‘mock’ outrage, but it was definitely an exaggeration.

“Blasphemer! You were not about to put this over the back of some chair, were you? Your tailor would tan your hide.”

His jacket finally hung and suspended from the back of the bar stool I’d pulled over, he went back to tossing the darts. I don’t know why he was rushing; I certainly had all the time in the world.

“Why don’t you take as much practice as you want?”

“That’s generous of you.”

“Well, I’ve been throwing for,” I grabbed his wrist and twisted it up for me to check the time. Sure, I could have checked my phone, but this was far more fun, and hands-on. I tilted my head as I shoved his sleeve back to read his Breitling watch. He obviously preferred expensive items. “Oh, about 20 minutes. I’ve worked out most of the kinks. Take your time, I’m not in a rush.”

“And if I am?”

He smoothed his sleeve back in place before resuming the familiar motion.

“It’s your dime.”

“What, are we playing for money?”

“If you want. I’m game. A buck a point, or would you prefer a pound?”

“A pound a point?”

“You can use the watch as collateral if you need to.”

“The gloves should suffice.”

“But they’re used, they’re practically worthless. Besides, they won’t fit me. Another reason, worthless.”

“You could always give them to the man in your life.”

“Smooth.”

“I think they’d look good on you.”

“But they won’t fit. You have enormous hands compared to me.”

He swiped his finger down my jaw.

“I think they’d feel good on you.”

I can honestly say that until that moment, I didn’t have a thing for leather. Or gloves.

“You know, if you’re going to use them as collateral, you need to take them off and give them to me for safe keeping.”

“I don’t ever take them off.”

“Why not?”

“They feel like second skin.”

“So what, you shower in them?”

“I do everything in them.”

“I bet that’s not true.”

“Absolutely everything.”

“You make me want to test that.”

“Test away... you know you want to.”

I did my best not to get lost in his smirk. Or dimpled chin. I was losing that battle, and he knew it.

“Well, we know you play darts in them.” I glanced around the bar and my eyes settled on another contraption seen in so many. “Do you play pool in them?”

“Billiards, yes.”

“Oh, you’re one of those.” I was severely disappointed. I’d been hoping to hustle him. That plan was down the drain.

“What do you mean?”

“Too complicated for a bar.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I can’t keep the scoring straight. I mean, when is it two, when is it three, what order do the balls have to be in, just, entirely too much.”

“I could walk you through it. I’d even be happy to keep score. Here’s a hint: it’s always two, and it’s always left, then right.”

I have no idea how it was that I held back the laughter. Oh, he was a live one. I decided to proceed as if he hadn’t just said what he’d said.

“It’s not even the right size table. Besides, beer or bourbon and billiards don’t mix for me. Why don’t we stick to darts.”

“Whatever the lady wants…”

“Now that’s a dangerous thing to say.”

“Do tell.”

“You don’t want to give me license like that. What were we talking about, anyway? Oh yes, your gloves. Do you drink in them?”

He picked up his Guinness and took a long pull. When he was done, I wanted to lick his top lip. I refrained as I watched him do it for me.

I had to clear my throat.

“Do you eat in them?”

“Are you asking me out to dinner?”

“No, I don’t need a demonstration, your word will suffice.”

“But what if I want you to ask me out to dinner?”

“But I’m not done with my questions.”

“Don’t you have all the information you need yet?”

“You didn’t answer my question earlier. Do you shower in them?”

“Yes.”

“You know, on second thought, I’m thinking a demonstration is needed.”

“That could be arranged for tomorrow morning, as long as you were a very good girl tonight.”

That was about as thorough an eye-fuck as I’ve ever had. If he was that good with his eyes…

“That depends.”

“On?”

“What constitutes ‘very good’ in your book.”

“Kind, courteous, holds her own in conversation.”

_Check. Check. Check._

He placed the darts in my hand and turned me around, hands staying on my shoulders and squeezing, slightly, letting me know his hands were still on me, staying right behind me and lowering his voice, speaking directly into my ear.

“Someone who is clear in what she wants, articulates it well”

_Yes, and yeppers._

“Someone who takes direction well.”

_Not me, but willing to learn._

“And someone who likes to fuck. So, how well does that describe you?”

_Oh, absolutely me. But wait, I need a moment to recover._

“About 85% me.”

It was made obvious by his bark of laughter as he turned me again so I was facing him that he hadn’t been expecting that answer.

“You came up with a percentage?”

“Well, one of the seven, so about 15% not me, so about 85% me, but I’m willing to try, make the extra effort.”

“Which one?”

“Which one what?”

“Which one isn’t you?”

Yeah, I got the ‘duh’ look. I deserved it. Not gonna lie, still trying to recover from the ‘someone who likes to fuck’ statement.

“I can’t hold my own in conversation.”

Now he was really guffawing.

“I really like you. Hey, what’s your name?”

I thought about it. Do I dare give him my name, my real name?

“How about only first names, ‘kay?”

“That works.”

“Kensie.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Yes, it is. And that observation wasn’t the least bit original.”

His eyes narrowed as he tried to read me.

“Nice to meet you, Kensie.”

I gave him more than the polite amount of time. Then I started to show my annoyance with a pointed stare.

“What?”

“Am I not afforded the same courtesy? What, you expecting me to just moan ‘hey you’? Not very gentlemanly.”

“You don’t know my name?” He sounded like he didn’t believe me.

“Well, considering we haven’t met before, how would I know it?”

“It’s just… a lot of… I mean I… never mind. I’m Henry.”

“Nice to meet you, Henry.”

He took several pulls from his pint, draining it and nodding to the bartender for another.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to hide a grin. It got me thinking, though: should I know him? Had he and I met at some point and I didn’t remember it, our encounter, his accent, _him_? He didn’t look at all familiar.

Oh, god, had we gone to school together?

I thought about running away. I thought about running far, far away. And I knew I needed to shake it off. I had to go on the offensive, yet again.

“Is there a reason you are still wearing your tie?”

“I happen to like my tie.” He grabbed his tie just below the knot, running his fingers down the silk. The swish of fabric between his still-gloved fingers had me thinking of other fabric between his fingers and I found it was, not surprisingly, hard to catch my breath.

“I wasn’t criticizing it, just asking if there’s a reason you’re still wearing it.”

“I’m still wearing it because I happen to like it.”

“So what, you do everything in your tie, too?”

“No. I do everything _with_ my tie."

Oh fuck, the smirk’s back.

Was it getting hot in here?

Two steps and he was in front of me. Two steps and he was in my space, ensuring I felt him even if he didn’t touch me. But he did.

Well, his tie did. He made sure I felt the cool, smooth, soft silk as he ran it up my throat to my chin, my jaw. He dropped his tie and tilted my head back, holding me in place _cool leather holycow ohmygod I need him touching me I need him touching all of me_ taking control but not so quickly that I couldn’t stop him if I wanted _not stopping you_ before he gently brushed his lips over mine.

“And I think you need to demand a demonstration.”

Oh, God. I was toast.


	2. Chapter 2

How the hell do you come back from sex-on-a-stick putting his hands on you, his lips, oh so gentle with just the barest amount of pressure that held the promise of _maybe, just maybe_ so much more?

His lips weren’t the only parts of him that gave me a promise.

There were his eyes. The mirth and the merriment danced around in the gas-blue flame glow that surrounded his pupils. His eyes darkened as that band of color got smaller and smaller.

And then there were his hands. I wanted those gloves off. I needed those gloves off, and yet, and yet here I was, and I wondered what it would be like to be touched by a man, yet not feel _him_.

He seemed to be enjoying that it was taking me a while to respond. Well, I was responding, all right, just not in any way that he could see.

“So, is 85% enough for you? You don’t require 100?”

“For what?”

“Does a very good girl have to meet 100%? Or will 85% do?”

“That depend on what that 15% represents.”

“Already told you: my lack of conversation skills.”

“Come on, Kensie. We both know that’s not true.”

He knew, he had to know what his dimples and smile that went all the way up to his twinkly eyes were. Sodium Pentothal. Truth serum.

I took the opportunity to put my hand flat on his chest and, seriously, brick wall, but I couldn’t help but wonder, what was under his suit?

“Fine. You win. It’s the whole taking direction thing.”

“Why am I not surprised. Have you ever thought about it?”

“Sure, who hasn’t?”

“So, why not?”

We were too close for confession time, but I couldn’t stop my mouth. I took a couple of steps back, breaking the intimacy that had come over us.

“I don’t know that it’s for me.” I was not about to have this conversation with a complete stranger, yet the things I was contemplating doing with him…

“No, that’s not it.”

Excuse me?

“And how would you know that? What, you know me better than I know myself?”

“That’s not what your eyes are telling me, or your adorable blush. You just haven’t had the right partner yet. You need someone who’s at least as strong as you are; he has to be able to hold his own against you.”

Hadn’t pegged him for one of _those_ men.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘every woman just needs the right man’ guys.”

“No, not at all.”

“So then what’s this ‘right partner’ crap?”

Yeah, he heard my tone, he knew what was going through my head. Would he turn and run? He turned, all right, but he didn’t run; he sat instead.

“I think it’s precisely because you are so strong that you must crave that, to be the person not in charge, have someone else be the person everyone looks to in order to solve their problems. To have a man, a partner, be equal to _you_? He has to be a rare thing.”

“I think extinct’s more like it.”

“No. Just a rare breed is all.”

“I’m telling you, that man doesn’t exist. Well, I haven’t met him yet.”

I know, I know, I didn’t need to do this. I didn’t need to go this far. It was just sex we were talking about, after all. But he’d opened the door with his too-close-to-call observations and I needed to protect myself.

“Look, I don’t know who you are or what you do, Kensie, but you are Someone, and that’s Someone with a capital ‘S’. It’s written all over you. Your self-assurance, confidence, and not in a cocky way. You know who you are and what you’re about, and I have to tell you, it’s damn fucking sexy.”

I wondered, was he just flattering me or was that how he really saw me?

“I bet you’ve got very few friends.”

What the hell was he after now? He didn’t know how sore of a subject this was for me so I stayed quiet.

“Women don’t trust you because they know that their guys are all drawn to you, not that _you_ want _them_ , because no way are you just something on the side. And the men do all want you, but to them you’re just some conquest, some prize although why they think they’d deserve you I’ll never know.”

_Did this man actually know who I was?_

“What, did I say something wrong?”

I tried to take a step back but he stood and grabbed my hand, preventing me from moving.

“No, something’s wrong. What did I do? Tell me?”

I needed him to stop talking about me, to stop with his dead-accurate insights. I couldn’t have that. I thought about leaving, getting away from him, but I couldn’t. I had to cover, quickly.

“I still don’t know if 85% is good enough.”

“For you, I’ll take that off the table. Hell, I’ll take everything off the table but one.”

“As if I didn’t know which one you’d leave on.”

“I think it’s only fitting. I am talking about showering with you, after all.”

“But I thought it was going to be a demonstration.”

He turned us so no one in the bar could see me. It was kinda nice knowing his body could hide me like that.

His hands traversed my shoulders. I felt the weight of them, the strength of him as I felt the leather barely glance over my exposed flesh. My neck had never felt more alive.

“It will be a very hands-on demonstration.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Precisely.”

His hands moved up, perhaps three inches, and I was being cradled. We’d already had the tentative kiss, the one to see if there was any sort of spark (there sure as hell was on my end, I’ll tell you). Now that we’d established we wanted to continue, Henry burned through me faster than flash paper, and I was far less stable.

The heat of his lips played a tantalizing contrast to the cool texture of the leather. He left me breathless. He surprised me, though, when he pulled away as quickly as he did.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“My room, your room, hell, a patch of grass out by the lake: I don’t care.”

“But I haven’t decided-”

“Kens, don’t give me that. You know you have.”

Was I that obvious? Probably. How often does one have a chance like this?

You are probably thinking ‘MacKensie Mitchell, you have to have chances like this all the time.’ You, my friends, would be wrong. The real reason I hadn’t wanted last names: I didn’t want to give him knowledge that would have him running for the hills. Not that I assumed he’d know who I was, but one can never be too careful.

So, yeah. I’d made up my mind a long time ago, like when he asked for my drink to be put on his tab. Granted, I gave myself an out in case I got the weird/creepy/stalker/keep-her-prisoner-in-the-basement vibe, but that hadn’t happened.

Not even close.

But you don’t ever tell the guy that: that you made up your mind almost as soon as the first words were out of his mouth. Gives him entirely too much power.

“And if I say I don’t want to go to my room?”

I’d have an out. I needed an out. I’d be able to leave any time and not have to try to toss this Greek Adonis out, since I’m relatively certain that I wouldn’t be able to get him to budge if he didn’t want to. Not a single inch.

Well, that’s not _entirely_ true. Maybe, what, 7, 8 inches? I was bound and determined to find out.

“I’ve got a room.”

Raspy and rough and crackling with want, his voice made me shiver.

“What’s your room number?”

“No. You don’t get to lead me on and then duck out on me.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I’d like to go get freshened up, take a quick shower and change.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“But I’ve got the road on me.”

“You can always shower at my place. If I let you, that is.”

“What, you got a kink about stuff like this?”

“I can’t imagine any man turning down the opportunity to peel skin-tight leather off of you.”

“Trust me, there are plenty of ‘em.”

“They are complete fools. Come on, join me?”

I couldn’t help but hesitate. I honestly hadn’t thought he’d want to go beyond the flirting.

“It’s okay, you can trust me.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw something and glanced down. His hand, extended to me, beckoned me. He didn’t duck down to me, the way that some men can do that makes me feel like they see me as a child. It’s that ‘I need to be at her level’ posture that I hate. No, he cocked his head to the side and lowered it, only looking to catch my eyes with his.

“You can trust me, Kensie. I won’t hurt you.”

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d taken his hand. His eyes had told me it wasn’t a practiced maneuver and I trusted my instinct.

Besides, if I was going to go out, may as well go out with a bang (and a whimper and a moan). And dimples. And smiley eyes.

We cleared out of there relatively quickly. I’m sure that most people knew what had been going on. It’s not like either of us had been subtle about what we wanted. I mean, we hadn’t shouted at each other, or started sucking exposed body parts, and the kisses had actually been rather chaste. Still.

Lisa was really sweet, too. I handed the hangar back to her as we were clearing everything up and she reassured me that she knew who he was and that he was perfectly safe. I found it surprising that he was local to the area, but that wouldn’t make sense, then, for him to have a room. He probably just traveled this way often enough, and he would be one of those men you’d remember after just one glance. Trust me on that.

Before I knew it, we were in his room.

“So, blindfolded or restrained?”

I knew exactly what he was asking, but I was a smidge taken aback that he wanted to dive right in. Didn’t he know that women can take a little longer to get their engine revved, so to speak? I wondered if I was going to have as good a time as I’d previously thought. Time to toy with him.

“Excuse me?”

“Would you prefer to be blindfolded or restrained?” He unknotted and pulled his tie from his neck

I knew my answer, which changed each time I blinked, but I thought I’d try to point him in the right direction, make him think it was his choice.

“That depends.”

I left it at that as I moved around the room, assessing the situation, waiting for him to pipe up.

I was confirming that his cabin was similar to mine: old, but clean. The wooden floor squeaked a little. I was curious about the platform bed, so I sat on it and then sank back. It was a newer mattress, so at least neither of us would be dealing with lumps and bumps, or worse, springs poking us in the back. Or hands.

Or knees.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself just a moment’s worth of relaxation. There was the potential for it to be a long night.

Apparently, I had an eager beaver on my hands. Or rather, between my knees.

He nudged one of his legs between mine and I swore I could hear his smile.

“On…?”

“On… what?”

“Blindfolded or restrained? You said it depends. Depends on what?”

“Why would I want to tie your hands up if I’m looking for a demonstration of you doing everything in your gloves?”

“No, darling. You. Would you prefer to be blindfolded or restrained?” I swear I heard his smile get bigger.

I still hadn’t opened my eyes so when I sat up, I kept my head tilted down before I opened them. I had a point to make.

I felt the smoothness of the summer-weight wool as my hands circumnavigated his thighs, just above his knees. Using a teasing touch, mostly just my nails, I scraped the fabric, slowly ascending to just below his gorgeous ass and pulled away.

“Would you rather have my hands,” I leaned in and tilted my head up, my chin barely grazing the bottom of his bulge. I opened my eyes, wide, and my gaze did not waver. “Or my eyes. Your choice.”

I love a good stare down, but, sadly, I was destined to lose this one. The smirk on his face had barely registered before the smoothness that was his hand encased in the supple leather driving glove made contact with the hollow of my throat. He knew he had me when my eyes rolled back before closing as I arched my neck, giving him free reign. We both knew I’d just handed myself to him.

The question on my mind was: would he take good care of his new toy?

The soft-as-silk cool leather glided up my throat, all the way to my chin. I couldn’t help but sway as he applied more pressure than was strictly necessary for me to feel him, and then I realized: it wasn’t for my benefit, but for his. He wanted to feel me. When that hit, I covered his hand with mine, flattening it against my throat.

My body jerked when I heard his moan.

“You like that, Kensie?”

His primal voice stirred something deep within. Rather than answer him, I pressed on his hand a little harder. I needed him to know it was okay to be, well, firm. I’d tell him later I liked things to be a bit rougher, but for now this would do.

Once I felt what I needed, I grabbed the zipper of my jacket and began to tug. This time, his hand moved to cover mine.

“No no, darling. I get to do that. Do me a favor and keep your eyes closed for now.”

“’Kay.”

I felt him kneel before me, his hand, fingers under my chin and pushing my head back, before slowly descending. I was surprised when I didn’t feel the zipper move, but rather his hand outside my jacket as he continued his leisurely pace.

“You know, when I was a child, I always ripped open my gifts at my birthday and Christmas. I was so eager to know what I’d received. Now that I’m older, I know that anticipation can make the gift that much sweeter.”

Great. He was going to tease me to death.

“Let’s start with your boots. Everything else will be easier, I think, once those are off.”

I began lifting my leg to get at the footwear and he stopped me, again.

“I got it, Kensie.”

I felt the tug of the pants leg and then the zipper just before my foot was set free. While I liked the confined feeling I got when wearing my riding gear, I equally enjoyed being set free. When I felt his thumbs dig into the arch of my foot though, I fell back to the bed, whimpering: I was transported to Nirvana. I normally hated to have my feet touched as I’m exceedingly ticklish. His grip, however, was firm and not designed to elicit laughter, but rather to provide relief.

Once my feet were free and happy, he tugged on my hands.

“I think I’d prefer you to be standing for this next part.”

Hell, I’d stand on my hands if that’s what he wanted, if I could, that is. He tugged me a couple of steps away from the bed. He now had 360-degree access.

“For now, I want you to keep your eyes closed, but I don’t want it to be a struggle. May I blindfold you?”

Without even touching me, it felt like he’d set me on fire. As soon as I nodded I felt what I assumed to be the tie being placed and secured over my eyes.

“Too tight?”

“No. But wait.”

“Something wrong?”

“How do I know you’re keeping your gloves on?”

“I am giving you my word: they are absolutely staying on.”

“Hopefully you are as good as your word.”

“I like to think I’m better.”

Even though he’d told me that thing about unwrapping gifts, I’d still expected that he’d go for one of the remaining zippers on me, and he did, but not before laying his hands on me and feeling me, or, really, getting me to feel him, through my clothes, through his gloves. It was only pressure, and it was most definitely not sexual, not strictly sexual, anyway. It was sensual. Varying pressures and speeds and lingering and revisiting those spots that made me moan. He touched my whole body, from my ankles to my shoulders. My favorite part, the part where I melted, was when he was behind me, pressed against me, hands exploring me from waist to shoulders. He wouldn’t let me feel him; he removed my hands when I put them on his hips.

“Just concentrate on my hands.”

“That’s my problem.”

He finally started undressing me, beginning with my jacket. As he lowered the zipper, he trailed one finger down my sternum, down my stomach to my pants. Off came the jacket.

Now, I’d been encased in the leather all day and had stayed nice and toasty, so when my skin felt the cool air, goosebumps erupted. When his gloves, warmer than the room but still cool, skimmed over me, my nerves were lit on fire.

I think the little kid in him started to take over.

He unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, wedging his hands under them, under my panties, and he stripped them off. Standing up, he took my thin, sweat-soaked t-shirt up over my head, and then removed my bra, but that took a bit of doing. I almost moved to help him but he was at last victorious. I was exposed, left in my skin and my goosebumps and nothing else. I was happy to be blindfolded, not able to see him. What was he taking in? What was he scrutinizing? What was he going to-

He pulled me back, flush against him. He was still in his very expensive suit. I felt him, but I didn’t feel  _him_. The summer-weight wool and buttons and buckles behind me, that was what I felt. The smoothness of his leather as it glided over my skin, tweaking and pinching and grabbing and caressing, made me squirm. He was real, he was human, but he didn’t feel human. He was all texture, texture that was making me weak in the knees. I tried to grab something, anything, to stay upright.

“Having a hard time standing?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me help with that.” He bent at the knees and his hand plunged between my legs and his fingers worked their way between my labia. My knees buckled as I cried out, his chuckle barely registering. He caught me before I could fall to the floor, and he pulled me back against him fingers working furiously.

The leather meant he was a little rougher than he would have been, I think. There was a little more pressure, more than I could handle for a few moments before he slid a finger in me and moved his thumb to my clit. That was it for me, that was all that I’d needed as I jerked and cried out, my body overcome as the pleasure coursed through my veins.

I felt him half-carry, half drag me backwards a few feet until he sat on the edge of the bed and turned me to face him so I could straddle his knees as he splayed his legs. He grabbed my breasts and massaged them, his hands alternately palming and kneading one while rolling the other’s nipple. I was a writhing mess, holding on for dear life as I quickly came apart. I felt his body shift as one hand moved back, finding my sensitive little bud and rubbing a gloved digit over me as he stripped the blindfold off and grabbed the back of my head.

Want and lust and need and desire were in that kiss. He swallowed my scream as I came apart again. Henry became a man possessed.

He twisted us around until I was on the bed and it wasn’t until he’d had enough that he stopped kissing me. By the time I opened my eyes he was removing his shirt. He toed off his shoes (I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always found that to be sexy) and removed his trousers and underwear. I used the three steps he took to his suitcase and back to admire his body before I finally looked at _him_. This man did not disappoint. Long, thick, and hard and suddenly I was hoping and praying he had the stamina I needed, that I’d been looking for.

He quickly rolled the condom on.

“Come on, get up.”

“What?”

“I want you on top so you’re in control.”

“What if that’s not what I want?”

“What?”

“What if I want you to take me? I don’t want you to be gentle with me.”

His eyes widened, mouth opening a little right before the corners turned up. Maybe I’d finally get what I’d always wanted, but never had.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“How about we make sure everything works first. Latex can cause problems.”

“Fair point.”

I shoved at his shoulder so he’d get the hint. If he wanted me to take charge, I would, but he was going to be surprised with the outcome. I was straddling him and running myself over him, sizing him up, slicking him up, before he’d completely settled.

“You sure do move quickly.”

“I need you inside me.”

A quick roll of my hips and, “oh fuck!” I was taking him in.

He’d been right, I’d needed a couple of thrusts to finally take all of him in. The stretch was almost, _almost_ too much.

“Damn, baby, you’re tight.”

“I love the way you fit inside of me, fill me up.”

A couple of hip circles was all it took for me.

“I’m close. Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come!”

“Already?”

A head nod was all I could give as he grabbed my waist and lifted me up before letting go and I fell. I slapped my hand over my mouth, not wanting all the units to come running to see what he was doing to me when I screamed. Again.

He reached for me as I collapsed, pulling me to him for another searing kiss as his hips started to move. As he sped up I realized that if he wasn’t careful, my fuse would be lit.

As it was, I couldn’t stay quiet. Especially once I realized he’d taken his gloves off.

“So, you do take them off. I knew you didn’t leave ‘em on for everything. I win.”

“Got you back here, didn’t it? I think I’m the winner.” He punctuated his statement with a much harder hip thrust.

“You keep doing that and I’m absolutely going to be the winner.”

“Are you serious? Again?”

“Mmhmm. Baby, I’m just gettin’ started.”

He lifted me off him by my hips. It sure was nice being with a really strong man.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

I started to move to the wall, wanting some leverage.

“I know what you’re doing, come back here.”

“But-”

He grabbed my ankle and pulled, dragging me back to him.

“You know, I want this to take a little bit of time.” He lifted me and set me on my knees in front of him, arm going around my waist as he pushed on my shoulders. I dropped to my hands.

“Sure, I want to come.” He kneed my legs apart and pushed on my lower back, urging me into an arch. “And I want to watch you come apart, over and over. Hell, I want to feel it as your pussy grabs my cock.” He started teasing my slit with the head of his cock, slowly moving it up and down, where he’d circle my clit, and up and down again. “But more than half the fun’s getting there, don’t you agree?” I groaned as he slammed into me. “Besides, I don’t want you to get oversensitive too quickly.”

He set a nice, steady rhythm with his hips as he appreciated my ass: grabbing it, rubbing it, smacking it every once in a while.

“You know it’s amazing how tight you are.” He thrust a couple-three times before he stopped. “I want to try something. Close your legs. Let’s see how much tighter we can get you.”

I’d do anything for him as long as he kept fucking me.

It took a couple of tries, but I was finally able to close my legs. Sure, I was tighter, so tight, in fact, that he wasn’t able to go as deep. It didn’t quite do what he wanted, I think, especially since-

“Well that’s a bust.”

He moved one of his legs and I was able to get back in my original position and he started to torment me. He held my hips and just barely breached me, pulling back out when he heard my moan. Several times he did this. I didn’t know what he was trying to do, other than to get me to beg him to fuck me. I vowed I wouldn’t do it. I told myself that every time I felt him slide past and then pull back out. I told myself that every time I heard my moan and my cry of frustration. I told myself that every time I heard him chuckle. I will not-

“Henry.” I know I sounded desperate. I know I sounded like I was begging. I was, well, without using the words. At least he didn’t make me use words. Such a gentleman.

He buried himself in me and then just stayed there, not moving. I thought maybe he wanted me to move so I started rocking and he quickly stopped me. Was this a new method of torture?

He pulled me up, one hand at my waist, one on my shoulder. I felt the hair of his chest against my back as I turned to him. I reached back, grabbing the curls at the nape of his neck and pulled him to me. Henry puts so much of himself, his tongue, his breath into each kiss.

“Kens, I need to stop for a sec. I need some water. You want some water?”

“Um, sure?”

I felt empty when he got off the bed, crossing the room to grab a bottle of water. I don’t know if he kept his back to me on purpose, and suddenly I wondered if I’d done something wrong. It wasn’t the kind of thought that typically flirted with my brain, but it was there. It startled and shook me. That must have been what he saw when he turned back around.

“Is everything okay?” The fact that he sounded concern allayed all the crazy thoughts going through my head almost instantaneously.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I’ve done that before but never had it work out quite like that.” He finished his bottle of water and grabbed several more before coming back over. “It got me really close really fast and I’m not ready for this to end.”

“Neither am I. And, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty much on a hair trigger with you. I don’t know what you’ve got going on,” I’d been taught not to point at people, that it wasn’t polite, but I couldn’t help waggling my finger over him. “But I could easily become addicted.”

“I just didn’t want you to be disappointed.” He flopped down next to me, head turned away and I could no longer see his face. Such a nice face.

“Disappointed? Hell no!”

“Well, I did take my gloves off.”

“True, and while you undressing me was, seriously, highly fucking erotic-”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Right? Well, I’m glad you did take them off.” I climbed back on top of him, stretching out. His hands began caressing me, running up and down my back. “I like the feel of your hands on me, of you touching me, caressing me.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“What else do you like?”

“Your lips, and your tongue.”

“What do you like about my lips and tongue?”

“I love what they are capable of.”

“And what’s that?” He was back to one of his smug smiles. Mission accomplished.

“You keep me on my toes, you make me laugh, and you get my pussy so fucking wet.”

He rolled us and suddenly I had a big hunk o’man on top of me, but not crushing me.

“I get you wet.”

“What, you can’t feel what you do to me?”

He answered me when he pushed back in.

“Do you feel what you do to me?”

His pace wasn’t just slow, it was languid.

Out and kiss and pause and in. There was no pattern to what he was doing, other than unrushed and unhurried. He really did want this to last. I craved more.

“Harder. Please.”

“Not yet, beautiful. Told you, I want this to last.”

Well, if he wasn’t going to take care of me, I’d do it myself. I tried to get my hand between us.

“No.”

I hated it, but I couldn’t help the whine that came out of me.

“Does your clit want some attention?”

Franticly, I nodded, and whined again when I answered, “yes”.

Henry buried himself, all the way, and then reared up. Good thing he’s a strong man. His thumb circled my clit and I needed more. I moved, trying to thrust, and he stopped and then pressed on my hipbone, stopping me.

“Stop moving.”

“You’re torturing me, aren’t you?”

“Aw, this isn’t torture, is it?”

I laughed until his thumb moved again. I tried moving again, and I guess that wasn’t what he had in mind. For such a big man, he sure moves quickly, pulling my legs up; I wouldn’t be able to move at all now. When he leaned over, essentially folding me in half, I realized he had complete control over me. It scared me for about half a second and I think he saw the panic in my eyes. He kissed me, moving his hips to the beat of his own drummer, and I got the understanding that he’d take care of me, that he’d see to me, and I was his, to do with as he pleased.

And boy, did Henry please, time and again. He sure proved to be the right partner.

* * *

I was finishing getting dressed the next morning. I wanted to get to my room and shower and hit the road. If I’d had time, I would have joined him when he showered, but I needed to get on the road and if I’d opened the door to any more fooling around with him I’d never make it on time. I didn’t want to be late for him.

“It’s a good thing I’ve got someplace to be.” He startled me when he walked back in from the bathroom. I’d been daydreaming a little, remembering some of my favorite things from the night before. And the middle of the night. And early this morning…

“Why’s that?”

“I’d spend a week just like this.”

“Oh, stop.”

“I’m serious, Kensie.”

“What, in this place?”

“If it meant you were with me? Yeah.”

“You’re full of it.”

His grin was quick.

“Yeah, of course I am. I should’ve known you wouldn’t fall for that.”

I laughed and turned to grab my bra, stuffing it in my pocket and catching his reflection in the mirror and seeing what, disappointment? Had he really been serious?

“Well, since you have someplace to be, and so do I, I’m going to get out of your hair. This was memorable.”

“You sure you don’t want to exchange numbers, or hell, even last names?”

“I think that would be a very dangerous thing to do, Henry.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

I turned to answer him and he caught me, boosting me up and instinctively my legs wrapped around him.

It was one last kiss, our kiss goodbye. We both made the most of it.

When we broke apart, what I saw on his face scared me.

“I need to get going, Henry.” After all the screaming I’d done over the past however many hours we’d been together, those whispered words felt like they were the loudest of them all. He gently set me down and it wasn’t until I was at the door that I turned away from him. I couldn’t get that look out of my mind.

_Hope._

* * *

I’d stopped a couple of times on my way up to Mackinac so I was a little later than I wanted to be. There were many farmer stands along the way. A lot of people don’t know how good the food is in Michigan. I love to sample the produce and had some lovely cherries, naturally, and some other berries and stone fruits. Picked just that morning meant they’d all be good for several days.

I got off the ferry and made my way to the Grand Hotel. I checked in and strolled to the [cottage](http://www.grandhotel.com/accommodations/masco-cottage/) that he always booked when he stayed there.

“Hi Daddy!”

I always loved getting one of his bear hugs.

I know what you’re thinking. Grown women don’t call their male parental units Daddy. It should be Dad, or Father, or even their first name. The only time I ever called him by his first name was when we worked together. Other than that, he has always been and will always be my Daddy.

“Hiya, Mac! I’ve missed you.”

“How have you been? How’s Mother?”

“As far as I know she’s still in France. She wonders why you never visit her.”

“You know perfectly well.” I started to sit and he caught my hand, keeping me standing.

“Actually, Mac-a-doodle,” he got under my skin every time he used that nickname, and he knew it, “I need you to go get dressed for dinner. There’s someone I’ve been chatting with for a few months now and I think he, well, his charity, the one he works with, could really use our help. He’s going to meet us for dinner tonight. Actually, I just sent him up to his room to get freshened up.” He saw the look on my face. “Yes, he’s staying here, I’ve got an extra bedroom so no need for him to be up at the hotel. Less likely that he’ll be recognized.

I couldn’t help the pout. I’d really wanted to talk to him about the offer I’d had, especially knowing they’d gone to him first. I didn’t want the job and I needed to figure out how to tell him.

“I’ve got something to talk to you about, Daddy.”

“I know, Mac. Later. For now, please, go get changed.”

* * *

I was glad I’d sent luggage ahead with all my clothes. Daddy was kinda particular about how people should look for dinner; he was a little old-fashioned that way. Not that I dressed for him, and not that he minded how I looked when I was comfortable, but I’d wanted to let him down, gently, and anything to make him happier before I crushed his hopes would, hopefully, soothe the sting.

It took just over an hour to get ready (washing and drying my hair always did make the time seemingly double), so the sun was low-ish in the sky, still radiating heat before she’d begin her descent below the horizon, when I headed out onto the veranda to meet Daddy and his guest.

“Mac, darling, you are a vision.”

“Thank you. Maybe we could head inside, though? It’s very warm out here.”

“I don’t know how you can be encased in all that black leather with the sun beating down on you and you complain about this.”

“Maybe some ice water would help?” I was glad I’d chosen a sundress, but I was still sweating and couldn’t seem to cool down.

He started out with the line of questioning that he knew I hated but always did anyway.

“So, seeing anyone?”

Visions of last night, and this morning, danced in my head.

“No.”

“Not very convincing. You’ll need to tell me about this young man you’re seeing, but after we have dinner with Mr. Cavill.”

“You know, I was hoping it was going to be just us. We need to talk.”

“I think it’ll be just dinner for tonight. Poor fellow, he’s trying to track down a woman he met yesterday. Says she kept him on his toes, not something he’s used to. Ah, here’s the love-struck fellow now.”

I quickly stood, the heat getting to me as I started to feel lightheaded and woozy, and turned to greet the man. Now, looking back on it, I _know_ time didn’t stand still. But that’s how it feels, anytime I look back on it.

Henry.

Here, in front of me.

“Kensie? What are you doing here?”

Daddy’s surprise quickly turned to concern when he saw the last of the blood drain from my face. “Mac?”

Lightheaded, tunnel-vision, my world greyed around the edges before someone turned out the light.


End file.
